


Family Reunion

by Sonora



Series: Striker Eureka 'verse [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Dysfunctional Family, Family Reunions, Father/Son Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck meets his Uncle Scott</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit rusty on this AU, but RowanDreamer asked and it gave me something nice to think about at work today. Hee.

Fucking finally, Chuck thinks to himself as he spots Herc in the mob here in the Art Gallery NSW. The old man keeps that dark red mop of his short, but at least it’s still distinctive enough to track, if a bloke knows what he’s looking for. And Chuck is a bloke who knows what he’s looking for; passage out of this goddamn museum and back to their flat, evening’s work accomplished. 

Herc’s got his back turned, shoulder resting against a marble pillar in the quiet vestibule area, champagne glass in hand, and Chuck would know that frame, that build, those shoulder anywhere. The rest of the room turns around him, all the rich wankers in their fancy clothes, but Chuck’s got no eyes for it.

He put on the tux, played James Bond like a good little boy. He wants that reward Herc promised him.

“I planted the tracker on the mark, just like you told me, Daddy,” he purrs, sliding an arm around his dad’s waist and pressing a kiss to his neck, voice low. His fingers creep up to Herc’s, aiming to take that glass away and finish it himself. “Time for you to take me home and fuck me now.”

But the reaction Chuck gets isn’t what he’s expecting.

Nope.

Instead, he finds himself yanked around and pinned to the pillar, steely-hard fingers digging into his throat, icy blue eyes glaring at him. The champagne glass goes flying, and...

“The fuck you want, you little faggot?” the man snaps.

Chuck growls, only barely keeping himself in line; there are security cameras in this place, no good getting caught on film carking some random arsehole for no reason. And this arsehole’s grip is _tight_. “Fuck off.”

“I’m not the one trying to come on to a stranger,” comes the hissed reply, and the only thing Chuck can think is that Herc is going to have his arse for this lapse in judgment. But this bloke really, really, _really_ looks like Herc.

“Oi, I thought you were somebody else!”

“Obviously,” the man chuckles, and leans in close, bringing their bodies together. “But I don’t fuck little boys, so why don’t you just get out of here, eh?”

Chuck drops a hand back, to the back waistband of his trousers, where he’s got his switchblade stashed. He’s close enough, right? Nobody’ll see it if he does it right, just like Herc taught him. “Like I’d let your diseased cock anywhere near my arse.”

“You would if I had my...”

“Chuck? You alright?!”

He doesn’t sigh in relief. Nor does he sag back against the pillar, body relaxing at the sight of Herc storming towards them, across the vestibule. And Chuck looks up, wanting to make some taunting remark, or just jab his blade between this arsehole’s ribs, but that’s not what happens at all.

Instead, he’s let go.

“Herc, good to see you again,” the arsehole calls out with disturbing ease, and jabs a thumb back at Chuck. “Think this belongs to you.”

Herc’s glare could peel paint as he strides up to them, but his hands are gentle, turning Chuck’s chin this way and that, inspecting. He’s furious. Chuck finds it more reassuring than he’d like; his hands, fisting up in Herc’s jacket, are unsteady. “Why the hell aren’t you in Macao right now?”

“You don’t email, you don’t call. I have to hire you for a job to get anywhere near y...”

“You’re the bloke who paid us for this Ma hit?” Herc groans. “Jesus, Scott, you know I’m trying to run a business here.”

“Oh no, I absolutely want Ma Xiaoli dead, and easier to do it here than anywhere else he goes. I do expect you to give me the family discount on it, of course, but...”

“You’re Uncle Scott!” Chuck blurts out, two and two coming together in his head. The way this bloke looks so much like Herc, how they’re talking like they’ve known each other forever...

Scott gives him a withering look, and then rolls his eyes back to Herc. “Look, bro, I’ve got no problem with whatever kinky shit you have to do to get your dick hard these days, but time and place, you know? I'm not related to your houseboy."

Herc sighs, arm possessively draped across Chuck’s shoulder. “We should probably talk.”

+++++

There’s no good time or place, Chuck supposes, for finding out you’ve got a nephew and your brother’s been fucking him, but they get a nice private booth at a nice private sort of bar, and Scott takes it like a champ.

The whole sordid story.

Herc does most of the talking, Chuck offering up bits and pieces where he’s supposed to, but mostly, he’s glad to just sit back and listen. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard the old man string this many words together at one time, and it’s almost nice, this strange lyrical quality coming into his speech as it rumbles on and on. Gives him plenty of time to catalog the differences between his dad and his uncle. Scott’s younger, a little softer around the edges, more manipulative than Herc is, less disciplined. But the same deep well of violence can be found in him too, and Chuck marvels at it. 

Must be a family trait. 

And he absolutely does not wonder what it would have been like to grow up with an uncle around. 

“I’ve heard you were working with somebody,” Scott says thoughtfully, after the waiter brings them all a fresh round of drinks. “There are a lot of rumors about you two. Didn’t think you were actually related, but... it’s not like I blame you. You spawned a fine boy here.”

Chuck scoffs. “Nobody _spawned_ me, wanker.”

Scott grins. “You got the Hansen mouth. I like it.”

“Keeps things interesting,” Herc replies blandly.

“Does he fuck as bad as he fights?” Scott asks Chuck.

Chuck, who just smirks back and presses as much as himself into Herc’s side as he can. “Fights better than you bullshit.”

“I bullshit pretty well.”

“You fight like shit though,” Chuck laughs.

“Oh please, like I didn’t know you were going for you knife, little boy?” Scott replies easily, and turns his attention back to Herc, attitude switching like a traffic light. Levity fading instantly back into anger. “And you should have told me about him. Fuck, I’ve got a nephew.”

Herc rolls his eyes, tapping a finger on the table. The other hand is on Chuck’s knee, squeezing a little. “This is not about you, Scott.”

“Like hell it’s not! You know...” and Scott stops himself. Takes a deep breath, eyes closed for a moment, and breathes out again. “It’s nice to know there’s more to our family than our old man.”

Chuck looks at Herc, but the old’s man’s face has gone blank. “The bastard’s dead, Scott. Let’s leave him that way, yeah?”

“Yeah, obviously, but...”

“Max needs feeding,” Herc says abruptly, interrupting Scott and standing up. “Don’t you think, Chuck?”

Scott flicks a bead of condensation off the stem of his martini glass. “Sure, wanker. Stick me with the bill.”

“Family discount, Scott. How am I supposed to feed myself?”

“Herc...”

“C’mon Chuck. We’re done here.”

+++++

Chuck doesn’t get much more of the story himself that night. Herc’s in a bit of a mood when they get back to their flat. The old man just tells him to go take a shower, and when Chuck comes out still wet - after fifteen minutes of waiting unsuccessfully for Herc to come in and fuck him against the tile - there Herc is. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Petting Max.

Who, of course, was fed proper before they left.

The old man only talks when he wants to.

But fuck that.

“The hell’s your problem?” Chuck demands, tossing his towel over his shoulder, all that poncy hair cream rinsed out and the half-dried mess sticking out at weird angles. Fuck that too. “I finally get to meet my uncle and you’re a dick to him?”

“He knows I don’t like talk about...” and Herc’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Our father.”

“Oi, why not?”

Max whines a little - he’s very locked in to their emotions, took a bit of getting used to - and Herc scratches the dog’s chin. “You know those scars on m’ back?”

“Yeah. They’re sexy. So?”

“So your granddad put ‘em there. Now c’mere and let Daddy dry you off. You’re dripping all over the goddamn floor.”

That’s all Herc will say about it. And Chuck’s kind of horny, so it’s not like he’s going to stop his old man from his very bald-faced attempt to change the subject. If Herc wants to fuck him into the mattress instead of talking about family history or whatever, that’s just fine with Chuck.

Scott, at some point, had slipped a business card into Chuck’s pocket, personal phone number and email on the back. And they’ve still got that job Scott hired them for, taking out that Chinese politician while he’s in town for the museum exhibit opening. 

He’ll just talk to his uncle. 

He always gets what he wants.

Maybe he can even talk Uncle Scott into bed with them - he's pretty hot, in a posh, stuck-up kind of way. Yeah. A three-way. That'd be great.

For now, though, Chuck just wraps his arms around his old man's neck and kisses him desperately, that cock he loves so much jackhammering into him.

Sometimes, it's great to be a Hansen.


End file.
